A True Elsewhere
by Frostbite Panda
Summary: Join Harry in a time when evil is defined by a subtle curse, and his destiny must be crafted by the actions of his enemy. The fate of the world lies in the hand of one man, and the fate of the man lies in the hands of one woman. HHr


**A True Elsewhere  
**  
_Written By:_ Frostbite Panda  
_Edited By:_ MD

  
**_Author's note:_** **_Well, I'm back with a hopefully acceptable version of this story. I've corrected my ways…and revised a large portion of the chapter. Personally, I thank the people who pointed that out to me. I've had one of the best ideas that I've had in a long time. I'd also like to thank MD, my wonderful Beta for seeing me through all this, and of course Façade for introducing me to him. _**

~~~  
  
Chapter One: _The Still Before A Storm_

_"Look at Earth from outer space_

_Everyone must find a place_

Give me time and give me space 

_Give me real don't give fake_

Give me strength reserve control 

_Give me heart and give soul_

_Give me love, give us a kiss…"_

_            --"Politik" Coldplay _

**_8/1_**

_Harry-_

_How are you doing so far? Are you already bored out of your mind? I hope the Durselys are treating you well. After what Moody did to them at King's Cross I should hope they came to their senses. Just checking up on you. Write back soon! We'll see each other real soon! I promise!_

_Love From, _

_Hermione_

****

**_8/1_**

_Harry-_

_Everything okay over there? Did Moody teach those relative of yours a lesson? I really don't have much to write about. I just wanted to see how you were doing. _

Ron 

**_8/3_**

_Hermione- _

_I'm doing fine. How about you? I hope I get to see you and Ron soon. _

Harry 

**_8/3_**

_Ron-_

_Everything's fine over here. Hope everything's okay with you. Hope to see you soon._

_Harry_

**_8/6_**

_Harry-_

_You will, hopefully. I'm glad to hear that everything's okay over there. I'm a bit worried about you to be honest. The sooner we get together the better. _

Love From 

_Hermione_

**_8/6_**

_Harry-_

_Thanks, mate. Everything's fine here. I'm sure I'll see you soon._

Ron 

**_8/11_**

_Hermione-_

_Don't worry about me, I'm fine. But I think some quality time to myself is needed at the moment, not that I don't want to see you or anything. I think it should be good for me. Again, don't worry about me. I can deal with it. I've been in worse._

Harry 

**_8/13_**

_Harry-_

_Name one situation Harry, and I'll be satisfied._[x1] _ Maybe some "alone time" is what you need, but I think you've been alone quite enough. _

Hermione 

**_8/15_**

_Hermione-_

_Just leave me alone. I'll be fine. If you want to come and whisk my away like my knight in shining armor, go ahead. I'm not going to stop you._

Harry 

**_8/20_**

_Harry-_

_So now all of a sudden I'm the "saving people" person? I'm the hero? Look Harry, I'm just worried about you, and I don't want to see you hurt. I know you better than anyone else Harry, Ron and I both know you better than you know yourself sometimes. You're the one who got snarky with me first, Harry, and I don't want to start an altercation with you. I'm your best friend; the last thing I'm going to do is "leave you alone". You've been alone your whole life._

Hermione 

**_8/25_**

_Hermione-_

_You **are** the hero Hermione, you're always looking after me and Ron. You've saved my skin on a number of occasions. If it weren't for you, there probably wouldn't be an all-conquering hero. And I know that you and Ron know me like the back of your hands, but I don't want any of you to get hurt. You get close too me, and your lives are in danger. Remember Sirius? I don't want to repeat that. You're all I have left now. I can deal with it. I'm fine.  _

Harry 

**_8/27_**

_Harry-_

I knew this was going to happen. Harry, you know that it would take all the forces in hell to take Ron and me from your side, let alone a few petty excuses like that. Don't make this difficult on yourself; you have enough to deal with as it is. You didn't push Sirius into that veil. He came in his own free will and from the trickery of evil. It has nothing to do with you. Everyone in the world is as under as much risk as we are. Anyone who wants to resist him is especially, Don't try to talk me out of it, I'm staying and you can't get rid of me, if you like it or not. And yes, we are the only things you have now; therefore, we should certainly act like it. I'm learning Occlumency as we speak so I can teach you over the school year. Dumbledore thought it would be easier if they were given by a friend, and he saw me competent enough to do so. I'm doing this for you Harry, and you better not shove it aside. I'm sick of your sulking and self-loathing. You have me, you have Ron. Don't give up now. 

Hermione 

Then the letters stopped. 

Harry didn't write, and neither did Hermione or Ron. Hermione, despite her arguing, seemed to understand that Harry did, in fact, need some quality time with himself, and had probably written to Ron to ward off his letters. Harry figured that her attempts in protest were to probably to keep him dangling above the abyss of self-destruction and from sinking too far into his own unhealthy musings. He was grateful. Which would not have been a feeling of the Harry Potter of the previous year.

The death of his Godfather was a terrible blow to his being. He had been robbed of almost anyone who ever dared to show him love. His parents were murdered on his behalf, and now Sirius had died trying to save him from the fool's errand he had involved himself with. His very focus and unacknowledged confidence in himself and his abilities resulted in his blindness as he ran of to save someone who did not need saving. He had shut out all prior authority, and acted as though he were misunderstood as if he were being pushed aside and shooed off like a child. His anger had grown, and his patience thinned. He had no tolerance for patronage and guidance. He had defeated the Dark Lord when he was just eleven years-old, took on a basilisk at twelve, sent a horde of Dementors fleeing at thirteen, and escaped a fully resurrected Voldemort at fourteen.

Why should he be treated like an ignorant child? 

But what did this earn for him in his 15th year of life? 

The death of one of his closest companions, and the endangerment of many others. 

His selflessness had waned and his own rage and angst had led him to unwarranted failure that not only resulted in his greatest folly, but shoved his own behavior and words right back in his face. It was like he had sprinkled salt into his own wound. He had become the victim of his own self-delusion.

He responded by sinking back into himself, carefully reconstructing the barriers that had crumbled during the previous year and storing all malice and spite behind them, part of the very thing Hermione did not want him to do. He lived in a subtle craze. Everything seemed to be back to the way it was. Nothing was outwardly unusual. 

However, a quiet, unrelenting darkness now rested with him and his life, eddying and flowing like a lithe serpent though the grass. If one were to talk to him that did not know him all that well, one would say that he was completely normal, if not a bit dull. But those close to him knew better. The limited correspondence they had had with Harry told them that it was all a charade. The certain lack of conviction in the writing, the almost exasperated manner in which he wrote to them. He wasn't dull, he was hanging by a thread, and the only way to condition that thread was to keep things as normal as possible, even if his mind and soul didn't agree with the exterior of his life. 

  
       The learning of his very fate was something even more profound than his Godfather's death. He had to kill or be killed. It was like some kind of nature documentary on the Discovery Channel. Be the predator or be the prey; those were his options. There could be no peace on the earth until the Dark Lord had been annihilated, and he, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, was the only one who could possibly carry out such a task. Either that or he should be killed and the Dark Lord's minions would be free to savage the world asunder. 

This knowledge left him with a feeling that was indescribable. He didn't fear his death. No, he welcomed death as it was. It was the consequences of his death that struck him to no end. The world cast into shadow, and he, and his death being the catalyst. He often had dreams of Voldemort cackling madly with long-winded triumph over his broken form as all good in the world beneath him dissipated like a ring of smoke.  
  
       The Wizarding World had been affected by the sure knowledge of Lord Voldemort's return. The papers conjured up many a slimy story berating the Ministry and its leader when not so long ago they had been happy to report their materialized stories and slander at a price. Rumors spread like wild fire, fear grew like a sickness, panic wrought the peoples of the magical world, and nothing was being done about it. Cornelius Fudge had addressed the Wizarding community on the undeniable discovery of Voldemort's return to power and had given an apology to the people, although the whole proclamation was glossed over by shallow lies to cover his own bottom and false accusations on the branches of intelligence committees failing to inform them of this. The mud flinging did not go unnoticed by the people and there was a slow separation throughout the community. The "Loyalists" or "Gits" as often called by the opposite party, were those who were ever loyal to the blundering Minister, and the "Rebels" or "Prats" were those who thought ill of Fudge and wished to overthrow him. The Loyalists were sorely outnumbered, but their often-high status and inexhaustible wealth endured the in feud…for now. It was only a matter of time before they fell. But until then, the Wizarding world was in a disorganized chaos that could not be controlled until Fudge (or someone else) did something.  
  
        Harry, despite his previous hatred of the Daily Prophet, had grown to be a religious reader. There was no more talk of "The Boy Who Lived's" egotistical lies and sermons. In fact, there was no mention of him at all. All the stories circulated around the political tangle of the Ministry and the incompetence of the current Minister. There were also other stories of strange disappearances of Ministry officials and intelligence wizards, the climbing death toll in Aurors and the sudden vanishing of many savage magical beasts. Other stories wrote about unusual stealth attacks on many sub-arctic Muggle army bases and camps as well as raids on armories in Siberia. Harry couldn't begin to comprehend the enemy's motives behind these attacks…nor his own. 

What was he supposed to do? March out to wherever he though Voldemort might be hiding and slay him with trumpets and cavalry and all? 

He longed to escape this house and to do something. He could do his summer homework, he thought to himself, but what was the point of doing homework when the world was on the edge of impending doom? 

_A speck of normalcy to keep your sanity_, a voice retorted.  
  
      It was true that his state of normal behavior were valiant efforts of his own to retain some of something that once was. He had, in fact, done over half of his homework, and had put more effort into it than his past schoolwork endeavors. Hermione would've been proud.  
  


            "Harry!" The high-pitched voice of his Aunt pierced into his thoughts, and he sat up, taking his glassy gaze from the dark window of his cramped bedroom. He was hesitant. Something in his Aunt's voice didn't seem to compute with him. But he finally pushed himself up and walked slowly downstairs, clearly taking his time.  
  
               When Harry sauntered into the immaculate kitchen where he thought his Aunt Petunia would no doubt be, he saw something that he never thought he would see again.

The same expression she had shown the day of the Dementor attack at Privet Drive when he had informed her of Voldemort's return. The same picture of raw…emotion that he had never seen his almost robotic aunt.  She was standing over a chest in the eating area holding something in her hands and looked…almost close to tears. Harry had to blink very hard to make sure he was seeing things clearly. And what was more; she didn't seem to notice his entrance, despite calling for him. She was turning her head to the side when Harry could stand it no longer. 

"Aunt Petunia…?" He asked cautiously. 

Her head snapped up, her eyes round as saucers and as frantic looking as a deer caught in headlights. It still took her sometime to rouse herself from her stupor to be able to determine that Harry was standing in the same room as she. Her eyes focused on him, and she stuffed whatever she was looking at into the top drawer of the dresser. "What are you doing snooping about?!" Aunt Petunia snapped, her already high voice reaching a peak on the last syllable. 

"Well you know, the kitchen is public domain, and I _am_ apart of this family, whether you like it or not," He said coolly. Harry's aunt seemed on the verge of either constipation or self-combustion…Harry wasn't too inclined to analyze this further. "And you called me," he added before she could finally boil over and let forth her flow of insults. 

Her face went from absolutely livid to positively mortified. She blanched about six shades paler than her already light complexion, and while stumbling into a kitchen chair, faltered, "I…Didn't…I…I…never…." Harry looked at her, his coy, nonchalant manner dissipating with his aunt's sudden mood swing. He moved over as she looked at the ground with glassy eyes, shaking her head mutely. He pulled out a chair across from her and sat down slowly, as if he were approaching a frightened lion…which, about summed up the situation. 

"Aunt Petunia…? What is this all about?" Harry ventured as if entering a minefield. 

She looked up at him suddenly as if she had just realized his presence. "What is it like…?" She whispered, looking to his scar pointedly. 

Harry stared, not sure what she meant or what he should say. "Wh…what?" he managed to stammer. His mouth was now extremely dry. He had never thought, in all his life at the Dursely's that he'd find one moment where he thought like any one of the household was actually interested in him, much less the life he lead outside the confines of Privet Drive. 

"What is it like…what is it like to wear that scar?" She said, having to restate herself in mid-sentence. She now found extreme interest in her hands. 

Harry blinked. "It's hard," he finally said after a long pause. 

Aunt Petunia nodded, as if she understood. Harry's mind seemed to sag under the amount of the strangeness about the entire situation. "Is…Is he looking for you?"

If any shred of reality was still with Harry, it had now departed. This _had_ to have been some twisted dream. Harry was silent and stared at Aunt Petunia, every letter of every word seeming to take three hours each to finally sink in. "Yes, he is, I suppose," 

Aunt Petunia nodded in the same fashion she had to his previous statements, still studying her fingernails. "Go to your room," she said calmly, almost solemnly. 

Harry peered at her. "What was it that you were looking at?" 

Aunt Petunia looked at him, her beady eyes now shining with the familiar Aunt Petunia like spite. "I said go to your room!" she barked loudly, her old venom quickly returning. 

Harry, knowing full well that their _unusual_ exchange was over, trudged up stairs, defeated. As he passed, an oblivious Uncle Vernon was sitting on the living room couch watching the news. "And our top story…: Freak snowstorm in America was reported today…" Harry didn't stay long enough to listen to the rest, as if he were interested. 

He climbed the stairs to his room, his mind groaning and his spirits even darker than they were before. What had Aunt Petunia been looking at? Why had she called his name? Why had she inquired about him at all? 

Harry flopped on his bed, his brain feeling saturated with information…either though the total sum of the words exchanged was probably equal to those conversed with a concussed troll. Harry had never seen such emotion from his aunt before. He had never thought he would be asked questions concerning his "second life" that could pass for interest. 

~~~ 

Harry had fallen asleep while mulling the events over and awoke with a crick in his neck and an anxious looking Hedwig tapping at his window. Harry had let her out to hunt last night, and instead of returning with a usual mouse or garden toad, she had a single scrap of parchment in her beak and seemed to be in a hurry to deliver it to Harry. Harry sat up groggily and threw open his window. Hedwig flew in and landed on his shoulder, giving him a few affectionate nips on the ear before dropping the parchment into his ready hand. 

_"Raven-_

_            "Be ready._

_"Wolf"_

_What?! _Who was Raven? Who was Wolf? What was he supposed to be ready for? Harry cast a bewildered look to Hedwig who clacked her beak as if agreeing with him. Harry read through the short, cryptic note again, but no logical explanation presented itself. What was this? 

"Harry! Breakfast!" he heard Aunt Petunia snap up the stairs. Harry took awhile to realize that she had indeed said something to him, and when he did, the events of the previous night came back to him. All thoughts of the strange message were now put aside as he headed to the kitchen. 

As he entered, Aunt Petunia didn't give him the mechanical morning greeting she forced herself to do after the threats Moody delivered to her at King's Cross, Uncle Vernon didn't emit his usual grunt from behind his newspaper…even Dudley didn't give his usual whimper that he usually sounded when Harry came even into throwing distance of him. Harry sat down at the silent table. He jumped as Aunt Petunia slammed a spoonful of eggs on his plate and threw him some burnt toast. Harry didn't pay attention to his ill-prepared food, but rather, studied his aunt. She was bustling around the kitchen in disarray, slamming pans regularly and throwing towels around as if she were looking for something underneath them.  She glanced over at the quiet table where Harry and now Dudley were looking at her. "Eat!" she shouted. 

Harry turned to his dry (and now cold) eggs, only poking them with his fork. He looked at Uncle Vernon, whose face was still hidden from view behind the paper. Harry gathered that he wasn't really reading, as he hadn't turned the page since Harry arrived. He was probably simply hiding from his wife's mysterious wrath. 

This continued for what seemed like ages to Harry but was probably only a couple of minutes until the doorbell rang. "Get the door! And for God's sake if it's those _effing_ Girl Scouts again tell them to bloody sod off!" Aunt Petunia screeched.

Harry had to fight the urge to burst into laughter as he had the sudden image of his vindictive aunt standing over a pair of little girls holding a box of cookies and telling them to "sod of". He got up first, and made it to the door without even a chuckle. He opened it and what he saw almost made him fall flat on the floor. 

There was Lupin, Moody, and Tonks at his front door. 

~~~

**_Author's Notes: More will be explained; including Aunt Petunia's behavior and Hermione's proclamation of her teaching Harry Occlumency in later chapters. ^_^ Read and Review!_**

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